


The Smell of Science

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Aromatherapy, Crack, Gen, Godless Communism, UNIT, he has no first name, oldfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: Is aromatherapy real science? Benton isn't sure, but everyone else seems to know one way or the other.





	The Smell of Science

“Aromatherapy, Benton?” asked the Brigadier, moustache twitching slightly as though it were not quite real in some way. 

Benton nodded. “Yes, sir. It could help stress levels among the troops. For example, a drop of lavender on your pillow at night would help you sleep.”

The Brigadier pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sergeant Benton, this doesn't strike me as a suitable use of our budget.”

Benton looked crestfallen, which is when one's crest droops distressingly. “It was Miss Grant who suggested it, sir.”

“And she's our scientific advisor now, is she?”

“She's his assistant, and some of that knowledge must rub off on her. Osmosis, sir, that's what it's called.”

“I think we should forget this aromatherapy nonsense, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Benton, who had been raised to respect people with double-barrelled names and fancy uniforms. He saluted sadly and made his exit carrying his sample box of aromatherapy oils.

 

“What did he say?” asked Jo, sitting on a table in the Doctor's laboratory. 

“I don't think he believes in it, miss. There was a certain scepticism in his voice.”

“Oh, well,” said Jo, cheerily, “the Brigadier isn't always right. I know for a fact that a drop of lavender on my pillow helps me sleep at night. You believe in it, don't you?”

Benton put the bottles away in their special carry-case. “I believe in a lot since the government started paying me to be open-minded.”

“I'm sure the Doctor would approve, anyway. He's always saying the military need to be more open to alternative possibilities.”

“Does he believe in the value of aromatherapy?” asked Benton. He had to admit he had a few doubts, but if the Doctor thought it was scientifically valid then it must be.

Jo waved a hand in the air rather vaguely. “I haven't asked him yet. He went off to Scotland before I got the chance to talk to him about it.”

“He is coming back, isn't he?” Benton worried about what might happen to UNIT if they didn't have the one person who was any good at getting rid of aliens. Bad aliens, he corrected himself, because some aliens were quite good sorts really. 

“Unless he gets glassed in Glasgow,” said Jo, who had never been to Scotland but had read about it in newspapers. She leaned over and patted Benton's hand. “Don't worry.”

Benton blushed. That was the most physical contact he'd had with a woman who wasn't a blood relative, and it made him uncomfortable. He suspected that Miss Grant was into free love, but he didn't want to ask in case she told him one way or the other. 

Luckily for Benton, Captain Yates chose that moment to appear and undermine the air of repressed heterosexuality. “Are those aromatherapy oils?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Benton, who occasionally wondered what percentage of his sentences ended in the word 'sir.'

“Ah. Try a drop of lavender on your pillow for a good night's sleep.”

“Really, sir?” asked Benton, who knew better than to let his superiors know that he knew anything.

“Hello, Mike,” said Jo, crossing her legs in a way that made her skirt go up to where Benton _knew_ there had to be thigh but he'd never previously had proof to go on. He looked at the wall behind her and thought of field rations.

“I was just talking to...” Jo frowned. “Sergeant Benton? Do you have a first name?”

Benton shook his head. “Not that I'm aware of, miss.”

Jo and Yates stared at him. Finally Jo said “Well, what did your parents call you?”

“They called me Benton, miss,” said Benton, who didn't see anything unusual in that. 

“Everyone has a first name!” Jo protested. 

“The Doctor doesn't have one,” said Benton reasonably.

“That's different,” said Jo. 

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is. I expect he really does have a name and we just can't pronounce it.”

“I wouldn't want to speculate, miss,” said Benton. He changed the subject by lifting the case of oils. “What should I do with these if we're not going to use them?”

Yates slapped him on the shoulder, which was behaviour Benton wasn't used to from his betters and therefore was something he didn't approve of. “I'll talk to the Brigadier about starting an aromatherapy group in the barracks.”

“He isn't keen on that, sir.”

“Nonsense, this is cutting-edge science!”

“Permission to remind you that you said that about trepanning, sir?”

“And it did very well until poor Jones.... well, it's best we don't talk about that.”

Benton nodded and tried to think of an excuse to leave. 

“He was Welsh, you know,” said Yates. 

“Yes, sir. He was my best friend, sir. After Smith was eaten by that dragon, sir.”

“Well, that's all in the past now,” said Mike, whose ancestors had tended to stay safely away from the front lines where they could make important decisions about people like Benton and their lives.

“What I wanted to talk to you about,” said Mike, some time after he had arrived with no mention of wanting to talk about anything, “was all this godless communism.”

Benton looked blankly at his superior. 

“Potatoes, Benton.”

Benton knew never to look confused by officers, no matter what nonsense they came out with. “We're allowed potatoes once a day, sir. Very good for the digestion, sir.”

“They're a known source of communism. Have them stopped at once.”

Benton tried to process this new information. “What about the digestion, sir?”

Yates sighed a long-suffering sigh. “You've got the aromatherapy oils now, haven't you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Benton, starting to realise that he didn't in fact believe in the healing powers of smells. He saluted then, because he felt bad about having a closed mind. He gathered up the aromatherapy kit and headed for the door, worrying about how to break the potato news to the men. 

Yates ignored him as he left, but Jo gave him a nice smile that suggested she thought he might have some worth as a human being. She was so kind, was Miss Grant. She didn't even look down on a lowly Benton as anyone else would.

 

And that is the story of the UNIT potato famine and the scandal of the workers' control of the production of aromatherapy oils.


End file.
